Blindfolded
by xo-emma-ox
Summary: Gray's story, from beginning to end. A rewrite
1. Home

I live in the middle of a flat nowhere, a tiny crevasse in a corner of the Earth. Hibben, Maine – population 207. If you're thinking of visiting there for the "panoramic views of the ocean" you can do yourself a favor by saving your money and not booking the trip. We'd all be better off if Hibben didn't even exist.

I wish it didn't.

My family is the most hated family in the entire town. My parents had run into some money once my father's fishing business took off, and they loved to show it off. They had an enormous house built at the very top of the hill, where the cliff's edge dropped off – a three-story monster looming over the sea down below.

You could call my parents conceited, arrogant and vain. I could think of a few more colorful words to describe them, myself. But who was I to say anything, right? If I was associated with them, I was just as bad as them. I consider myself genetically cursed.

I never cared about the money. It never brought me the satisfaction that it brought my parents. I just don't see how owning shiny things and wearing flashy clothes could fill a person with joy.

If money truly buys happiness – then why am I angry _all the time_?

* * *

It was a scorching hot day. My face felt like it was melting. I tilted my head towards the sky and shut my eyes. I could see my eyelids were glowing red from inside the sockets. I groaned as my head began pounding from the heat. I wish I had brought my hat down to the pier with me.

"_Gray_!" My father slapped me across the back, making a hollow thump. "Get your head out of the clouds and start gutting."

I opened my eyes, seeing spots. I sighed and reached for the knife in my pocket. In front of me was a wooden table stained with blood and other unidentifiable substances. To my right was a barrel of struggling fish, splashing and writhing around for the last few moments of their lives.

What was it like to die that way – lying there, defenseless, having nowhere to go?

I think I knew.

The distant crunching of gravel caught my father's attention. His gaze averted to our driveway where a black vehicle was pulling in.

"Oh," I mumbled, glancing at the man stepping out of the vehicle. I felt a wave of dread wash over me.

It was my brother.

"I'll finish the rest of the barrels. Go help Peter with his luggage. He's here visiting for the next few days."

"Nobody told _me_ that." I said to myself, shoving my knife back into my pocket.

I started up the steep stairs from the docks up to our house. I could see Peter leaning against the side of his vehicle, watching me. He was smirking as he tossed me the keys. I felt his judgmental gaze lock onto my filthy gutting clothes.

"I see you still don't have a real job." Peter followed me around to the trunk of his car.

"I see you're still an asshole." I muttered, jamming the key into the keyhole and opening the trunk.

He had packed enough suitcases and bags for an entire village. How did I get stuck carrying all this garbage upstairs? I scowled at Peter, who laughed. He patted me on the shoulder, and headed towards the porch where my mother stood. She was smiling as she hugged him tightly, and then ushered him inside. I heard the door latch click, and I let out a breath I didn't realize I had been holding in.

I heard myself growl as I launched the last suitcase onto the bed in Peter's room. Standing in his room, I was reminded of my entire childhood when Peter would tease, taunt and torture me until I was either bloody or crying. He had always been the golden child. My parents had had him, and were trying for the perfect baby girl when they got me instead. I felt like an outsider in my own home. And of course, it worsened when my parents _did_ finally get their "perfect" daughter.

Perfectly _rotten_.

I was nine and Peter was twelve when Paulie was born. She looked just like my mother, and became my father's entire world. While our mother worshipped Peter and our father worshipped Paulie, I worshipped any alone time I could get.

Gracie was born a few years later, and I found myself spending more time with her than anyone else. She rarely cried, unlike Paulie, and sometimes I could make her smile. The fact that she didn't look anything like either of my parents was an added bonus.

Someone hollered from downstairs, dragging me from my thoughts. I sighed and headed down towards the kitchen.

* * *

"So I told him, 'If you are given a chance, take it. If it changes your life, let it'." Peter bragged. "And he _didn't commit suicide_!"

Our mother gasped and our father began to clap. Paulie giggled while Grace simply stared, peas smeared all over her face. I watched Peter absorbing the attention, loving every moment.

I felt sick.

"You're a hero!" gushed our mother, beaming with pride. "Our baby boy!"

I bit the inside of my cheek. _Baby boy, my ass_!

"Um, Gray?" Peter grinned. "Some more cranberries?"

My eyes flickered to Peter, and then to the table, where our mother had prepared a giant feast for this joyous occasion. The dish in which the cranberries were was empty.

"They're all gone." I told him, returning my attention to the mashed potatoes on my plate.

"_Gray_," Our mother scolded. "Go into the kitchen and get the man some more cranberries!"

I slowly stood up, pushing my chair back in with a little more force than necessary. I tried to focus on deep breathing as to not completely lose it in front of my entire family. Somehow I made it into the kitchen without punching anyone or anything. I shut the French doors behind me and pressed my forehead against the glass.

Soon, the hum of conversation picked up again from the dining room. I was the only one to hear the phone ring.

I pressed the phone to my ear. "Hello?"

"Hi there!"

The man's voice was loud, and I winced. He didn't sound familiar at all. His accent was different than the locals.

"Can I help you?" I asked.

"Well, I'm not sure! Is this the home of a Mr. P.R. Hearn?"

I told him that was my father.

"Oh, wonderful!" I could practically _hear_ the man smiling. "I am the mayor of a small town. My name is Thomas."

_And_? I thought.

"Well, you see, I ordered a large shipment of fish to be sent here on Friday, but the man in charge of loading and unloading will only be here next week. Would it be possible for one of your employees to get the job done?"

All of our workers were on holiday. It was the only holiday they got. There was no way my father could convince any of them to go. It's not like he would pay them, either.

Maybe I could go.

"Um," I muttered. "I - … Yeah, we can send someone."

"Excellent! They will be reimbursed, I assure you! The boat will arrive in the morning around nine. Goodbye!"

_Click_.

And that was that.

"_Gray_!" Peter hollered from the dining room. "_The cranberries_!"

I swung open the door to the pantry and pulled out the dustiest can of cranberries I could find. I didn't bother checking the expiry date.

The can opener was giving me a hard time. I must've cranked it too hard, because before I knew it, the lid was off and then cranberries were spewing out of the can onto the floor.

"Shit," I mumbled, crouching down to observe the damage.

The red jelly had soaked up some dust, dirt and a few stray hairs. I used my hand to scoop it up and slap it in a dish.

"Well, if it's cranberries he wants," I grinned. "It's cranberries he'll get."

I glided into the dining room feeling like a million bucks.

"The cranberries are served." I smiled as Peter looked up at me.

"You know," He furrowed his brow and then shrugged. "I don't really want them anymore!"

My smile faded.

"Oh, Peter, before I forget – " Our father wiped at his mouth with a napkin. "The air conditioning in your room is broken. You can take Gray's room until it's fixed."

I scoffed. "Where am _I_ supposed to sleep!?"

"_On the floor_." I heard Peter whisper.

"You can use the guestroom, Gray." Our mother rolled her eyes. "Quit being so dramatic."

"You've got to be kidding me! It's like a million degrees in there!" I turned to my father.

"Does it look like I'm kidding?" He snapped.

* * *

I soon found myself lying on damp sheets in a room hotter than Hell. It smelled like must. I always hated this room. Who would paint an entire room orange?

_Kill me_.

I turned my head to the right and found myself staring at a photograph of an old man. He had wild tufts of white hair crowning around a gleaming bald spot. He stood in front of a little shop that read 'Saibara's Blacksmith'. He didn't look familiar. But I doubt my parents would keep a picture of some random old guy if they didn't know him. Hell, I don't even think they had any pictures of _me_ in this house, so he had to be _somewhat_ important to them.

I didn't sleep that night. And by morning, I had made up my mind. I would be the one to make the delivery, and I wouldn't be coming back.


	2. Blue

On Wednesday, my father and I reeled in the big catch. We had had bigger, but this one would be just enough for the shipment on Friday.

The sea was especially rough that day, and our pontoon was being tossed around like a hot potato. My stomach was churning by the time we pulled in the last of the nets. It bothered me to see the fish all tangled up, dancing stupidly, struggling. I didn't mind seeing them already dead, but - … There was something very disturbing about knowing something, and then seeing it die in front of you. It's like a part of your soul goes with it, and you'll never get it back. A part of your innocence - gone.

Asking him if I could be the one to go with the shipment went surprisingly well. I didn't know what to expect, considering that it would either be him, Peter or myself.

"_Just don't expect to get paid for overtime_." My father had snarled.

I left out the fact that I wouldn't be returning.

When we reached our final marker for the nets, my father shooed me away as he began to reel it in. It was as if he didn't want to share whatever satisfaction the catch might bring him.

_Like I could give less of a shit_.

I began untangling the fish from the net while my father pulled in the rest. Seagulls swooped above our heads, squawking. The stench was making my eyes water, and I turned away until they calmed.

I heard my father cry out. I turned to see him struggling with the last of the net.

"_Get over here, boy_!" He hollered, waving me over.

I hurried over and he handed me a portion of net. I could've sworn I saw a glint in his eyes – I'd never seen him so juiced up. Just what was tangled up in this net?

"_Pull_!"

I yanked the net with all my might, stumbling backwards and landing hard on my side. My father tossed the bulk of it beside me. Whatever was tangled inside the net was thrashing violently around.

"_What is it_?" I shouted above the roar of the waves.

I watched him pulling back layers of the net, exposing what the creature was, and I stood.

"_It's a great… big… beautiful…_-!"

I jumped back as the creature swung in my direction.

"_Shark_." My father was grinning.

I grimaced, looking at the animal flopping around pathetically. I had never seen a shark up close. It was no Great White, but perhaps it was just young. Hell if I knew. If it had been swimming towards me I would've been afraid, but seeing it now… I just felt _bad_.

My father pulled out his knife and crouched down, admiring the famous terror of the deep. I assumed he was cutting the thing free.

But he wasn't.

"_You gonna let it go?"_ I shouted.

He gripped the shark's dorsal fin and then looked up at me, smiling.

"_What are you do-"_

* * *

Thursday rolled around, and I was exhausted. The fact that I had to work another long day in the hot sun didn't help my already pounding headache. But the fish needed to be gutted and packed up by the end of the day. Tomorrow was, of course, the big day.

I caught myself cursing my father a time or two as I moved the fish crates from the pontoons onto the dock all alone. My arms were screaming in protest by the time the boats were unloaded, and it was only two in the afternoon. By the time I started gutting, the sweat was pouring off of me. I was making stupid mistakes – cutting myself instead of the fish; dropping the knives; tossing the innards in with the gutted fish. Maybe if I hadn't been left to do everything myself, the delivery wouldn't look so half-assed.

But my father wasn't speaking to me. In a way, I was relieved. I don't think I could look at him the same way ever again, and I wasn't about to bring up the topic of what had happened on the pontoon. I had been trying to push the memory out of my mind since the moment it happened.

_Sigh._

I sealed off the last crate around seven. I was a complete mess – unknown substances and bits of Goddess-knows-what splattered my coveralls. I smelled like putrid fish and sweat, and all I wanted was to take a shower.

I made my way back up to the house. All the vehicles were gone. My family most likely went to town without me.

_Whatever._

I stepped through the front door and headed upstairs for the bathroom. I ripped the rancid clothes off of me and jumped in the shower. I scrubbed myself until my skin was red and raw. Somehow I still felt dirty.

When I dried off and put on whatever pants I could find, I used my towel to wipe the steam from the mirror. I was a flaming hot mess; I needed a shave, a haircut, and a hell of a lot of sleep. I looked and felt like I had completely given up on myself.

Downstairs, I heard the front door slam. Heavy sets of feet bounded up the stairs into multiple bedrooms. It seemed as though my family was home from their outing.

_Shit._

It was at that precise moment that my brain decided to remind me that tomorrow I was leaving. In just a few hours, I would be out of here, and I had yet to pack a single thing. Packing a bag wouldn't take that long - I wasn't planning on bringing much, anyway.

I exited the bathroom, taking in the cold gust of air from the air conditioning of which I had been deprived, and headed towards what used to be my bedroom.

* * *

"Don't touch that!" I barked, having just stepped through the open doorway.

Peter stood at my dresser, fiddling with all my things. "That's a nice little rock collection you've got there."

"Shut up."

It had taken me months to chisel the ores he was talking about. I had discovered a cavern at the bottom of the cliff that flooded every time the tide came in. It took a lot of maneuvering to reach it, and I had suffered some battle wounds from the slippery, jagged rocks that surrounded it. I had only a few hours to explore each day until I'd be washed away, so I had to move quickly. With a weak chisel I had stolen from my father's toolbox and with any solid, heavy stone I could find, I would pound away at the walls of the until a piece broke loose. When the water began to find it's way back it, I would fill my pockets with what little I had earned and make the treacherous journey back home.

Once there, I would spend the evening in my room, chiseling at the rocks until they began to break apart. Most of them crumbled, and contained nothing, but if I was lucky, the bits that crumbled away would reveal a sparkling discovery. So far, I had found some copper, a bit of silver, and something I couldn't quite put a name on.

It was beautiful - I had never seen something so blue before in my life. I figured it was sapphire, but it sure didn't look like a gem to me. It was the kind of blue you wish you could dive into. It was my prized possession. And Peter was holding it between his dirty thumb and index finger, examining it.

"What are you going to do with this piece of junk?" He scoffed.

I went to take the stone from him, but he held it away. Peter smirked. My blood began to boil.

"Give it back," I said.

"It's just a stupid rock. What's it to you?"

I could feel my cheeks burning. "Just give it back!"

"Or else _what_, Gray? Are you going to hit me?"

My jaw was clenched so tightly that I could feel my heartbeat through my teeth. I had more anger built up in me from the last eighteen years of my life, and I _knew_ I was a ticking time bomb. Peter didn't.

"Are you getting mad? C'mon! Get mad! Show me what you got!"

My hands balled into fists. My ears were ringing. I was ready to explode.

"Go on, do it! C'mon! _Hit me_! _I dare y_ –"

I don't remember what happened next, but when I opened my eyes, Peter was wiping the blood from his face while staggering a few steps back. I glanced down at my shaking fist and found that it was bloody, too.

I heard the ore hit the carpeted floor with a thump. Peter began to scream.


	3. Sail

Friday morning couldn't have come any faster.

The sun was already raging down on me by the time I opened my eyes. All I could see was white light. I could hear seagulls squawking from a distance, and the waves were lapping gently onto the shore. I groaned, my neck and back aching against the pier on which I had spent the night.

I sat up slowly, my eyes still struggling to make the required adjustments. For the first time in a long time, I was able to sigh peacefully. That is, until I saw a boat on the horizon.

* * *

I finished docking the Heaven-sent ship and took a few steps back.

The boat was beautiful. Pearl white and gleaming, it stretched at least thirty feet. It had at least two stories, judging by the windows below the top deck. Even the helm had its own level. In blue cursive at the bow of the ship was the name of a woman.

_Lillia._

"Hello!" I heard a familiar voice shout.

A short man in a burgundy suit and hat was leaning over the railing of the boat, smiling brightly. He had curly brown hair and the tackiest mustache I had ever seen. I was reminded instantly of the Pringles man. It must be Thomas, the man who had called.

"What's your name, boy?" He asked, tipping hit hat towards me.

I tipped my own in return. "Gray."

"The name's Thomas! We better get a move on, wouldn't you say?" He gave me a wink, and gestured to the pontoon on which the sealed crates were gathered.

I nodded in agreement and pushed up my sleeves.

_Let's get to work_.

* * *

Little did I know that I would be the one doing _all_ the work. The lazy bastard stood like a king watching the court jester waiting for a good laugh. His nose was held so high in the air; I worried that he might drown if it rained.

"That's the last of 'em." I said, cracking my knuckles.

"All aboard! Next stop – Mineral Town!" Thomas pumped a fist into the air.

I stifled a laugh and untied the cleat hitch. I gave the boat a good shove and pulled myself onboard as it drifted away from the dock. The mayor hurried up the stairs to the level above, where the helm was situated. He gave the wheel a few good twists, and we were off.

"And everyone brings something to add to the pot! Haha! Isn't that great?"

Great. Grand. _Wonderful._

Thomas' mouth had not stopped. The fact that we were in the middle of the sea with no land in sight didn't exactly help my pounding headache, either. How much longer until I snapped?

I shoved my hands into my pockets as I leaned against the railing of the ship. My fingers grazed the stone I had grabbed before running out last night. I would never let the blue orb out of my sight again. It was the only beacon of hope I had left.

"Do you like horses, Grant?"

The man was _still_ going strong.

"It's Gray," I grumbled. "And no, I don't. I try to avoid any animal that can stomp me to death."

"… Well, there are plenty of other festivals you could enjoy. Maybe the sheep festival, or the New Years festival, or even the Full Moon festival - that's when you invite that _special someone_ to the mountain top with you to watch the moon."

He had put air quotes around 'special someone', to which I rolled my eyes.

I had never even had a girlfriend. I think the villagers were afraid of me – especially the women. I wasn't one to strike up a conversation, and I think they took my social awkwardness as being rude. If I couldn't even make a friend, how was I supposed to get a girlfriend?

… _Like I needed the extra baggage, anyway._

Women could wait. What I needed was a solid living situation, and a job. What Mineral Town could offer, I had no idea. I guess I just had to wait and see.

* * *

"_Land, ho!" _

"Shi-…!"

The boat lurched, and I awoke from my slumber just moments before faceplanting onto the deck of the ship. I groaned, reaching up to see if my nose was still attached to my face.

"Watch your footing, there, boy!"

_No shit._

I stumbled back onto my feet and shifted my gaze forward to what was no longer the open sea. Before us was a shoreline, freckled with umbrellas and towels. There was a log cabin and what looked like a white shack. Besides those structures, the place was deserted.

Quiet. _Peaceful_.

This was it - my chance to start over.

I restrained myself from diving off that stupid boat and swimming all the way to shore.

"Batten down the hatches!" The mayor hollered. "Get those buoys ready for docking!"

_Yeah, yeah_.

I crouched down and lifted the lid of the seat on which I had been sitting. Inside were the ropes and buoys we had tossed in when we had set off.

"Ready," I shouted.

Hopefully this would be the last time I'd ever have to step foot on a boat ever again.


End file.
